He had in his lap now no less an authority than "Chitty on Pleadings."

He had sat there for some moments--and he had not seen a word on all the page.

CHAPTER V

CLOSED DOORS

By the time Don Lane had reached his mother's house he partially had pulled himself together, but his face was still pale and sullen, not yet recovered from the late encounter.

He cast himself down in a chair, his chin in his hand, looking everywhere but at his mother. His wounds, poor lad, were of the soul, slow to heal. The white-faced woman who sat looking at him had also her wounds, scarred though they were, these years. Her features seemed sharpened, her eyes larger for the dark shadows now about them. But she was first to speak.

"Wasn't it enough, Don," said she--"didn't I have enough without all this? And on the very day I have looked forward to so long--so long! You don't know how I have worked and waited for this very day. Why, it's the first time I've ever seen you, since you were a baby. You're a stranger to me--I don't know you yet. And then all this comes--now, on my one happy day."

"Well, how about it, then?" he demanded brusquely. "You know what they've been saying--I couldn't let it go. I _had_ to fight!"

"Yes, yes, you have--and in a few hours you've undone twenty years of work for me. The sleeping dogs were lying. Why waken them this late?"

"_Who was my father?_" demanded the young man, now, sternly. "Come, it's time for me to know. I couldn't help loving you--no one could. But--him!

Tell me--was it that man who defended me? Is my name Don Brooks?"

She made him no answer, though her throat throbbed and she half started as though at a blow.

"Oh, no, oh, no! What am I saying! Of course you understand, mother," he went on after a long, long silence, "I don't believe anything of this, not even what you have said to me about my being--well, _filius nullius_. There was a quick divorce--a hidden decree--you separated, you two--he was poor--that often happens. Women never like to talk about it.

I can't blame you for calling me 'n.o.body's son,' for that sort of thing does happen--secret and suppressed divorces, you know. But as to that other----"

For a long time Aurora Lane sat facing a temptation to accept this loophole of escape which thus crudely her boy offered her--escape from the bitter truth. He would fight! He--and Hod Brooks--those two might defy all the town--might cow them all to silence even now. But--once more her inborn honesty and courage, her years-old resolution triumphed.

"I cannot tell you who your father was, Don," said she quietly, at length, ash pale, trembling.

"When were you married--when--where?"

"I was _never_ married, Don! What I told you was true! Oh, you make me say a thing to you I ought never to have been asked to say, but it is the truth. You may believe it--you must believe it--it's--it's no good keeping on evading--for it's true, all of it." She was gasping, choking, now. "This is a ghastly thing to have to do," she cried at last. "Ah, it oughtn't ever to have been asked of me."

The boy's breath also came in a quick sob now.

"Mother, that's not true--it _can't_ be! Why, where does that leave you--where does it leave _me_?"

Her voice rose as she looked at him, so young and strong, so fine, so manly.

"But I'm not sorry," she exclaimed, "I'm not--I'm _not_!"

"So what they told me--what I made them all take back--_it was true_?"

He sank back in his chair.

"Yes, Don. We can't fight. We are ruined."

"Born out of wedlock!--But my father only ran away--you told me he was dead."

"Regard him so, Don."

"Where is he--who was he? Why did that man tell me to fight them all?"

"I will never tell you, Don, never."

Her dark eyes were turned upon him now, eyes unspeakably sad.

"But you must! You wouldn't deny me my own chance in the world?"

"You will have to make your own chance, Don, as I did. We all must. I have my secret. The door is closed. There is no power ever can open that door--not even my love for you, my boy. Besides, the knowledge could be of no use to you."

"Yes? Is that indeed so? You would debar me from the one great right of all my life? Tell me, is my guess right? I'll make that man marry you."

"Ah, you mean revenge?"

He nodded, savagely, his jaws shut tight. But his brow grew troubled.

"But not if he came out and stood by me and you, even this late. I suppose----"

"There is no revenge for a woman, Don. They only dream there is--once I dreamed there might be for me. I don't want it now. I am content.

There's more pity than revenge about me now. I only want to be fair now, if I can, and now I'm glad--this is my one glorious day. For you're mine. You are my boy--and I'll never say that I am sorry. Because I've got you. They can't help that, can they, Don?"

"He got us out of worse trouble, didn't he? Why did he do that, Mother?

What made him look at us the way he did? And what made the other lawyer, Henderson, drop the case? How did they settle it out of court? Lucky for us--but _why_?" He spoke sharply, abruptly.

A trifle of color came to Aurora Lane's cheeks. "It was his way," she said. "He's a good lawyer--advancing right along, more and more every year, they say. He's always had a hard time getting a start. He's like me."

Don Lane sat silent for a time, but what he thought he held. He cast a discontented glance about him at the meager surroundings of his mother's home, with which he could claim no familiarity.

"How did you manage it, Mother?" he asked, at length. "How did you get me through--big, ignorant loafer that I've been all my life. You say he never helped any. Was he so poor as all that?"

"I couldn't have done it alone," said Aurora Lane, slowly. Mechanically she smoothed down the folds of her gown in her lap as she spoke.

"I have told you you had two mothers, if no father," said she at last, suddenly. "That's almost true. You don't know how much you owe to Miss Julia. She helped me put you through school! It was her little salary and my little earnings--well, they have proved enough."

"Go on!" said he, bitterly. "Tell me more! Humiliate me all you can!

Tell me more of what I ought to know. Good G.o.d!" He squared his shoulders as if to throw off some weight which he felt upon them.

His mother looked at him in silence for some time. "Shall I tell you all about it, Don?" she said. "All that I may?"

He nodded, frowning. "Let's have it over and done with."

"When I came here I was young," said Aurora Lane, slowly, after a long time. "Julia was young, too, just a girl. We both had to make our way.

Then--then--it happened."

"You didn't love me, Mother? You hated me?"

"Oh, yes, I loved you--you don't know what you say--you don't know how I loved you. But everything was very hard and cruel.... Well, one night I had made up my mind what I must do....